


Life Day is For Lovers

by hollycomb



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Ambassador Maratelle, Ben is Still Super Evil Though, Dark Comedy, Espionage, First Time, Holidays, Hosnian Prime, Hotels, Jedi Ben Solo, Life day, Love/Hate, M/M, Room Service, Space Pears, so is hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/pseuds/hollycomb
Summary: Eleven years before the firing of Starkiller, Hux spends some time on Hosnian Prime with his stepmother, the Ambassador from Arkanis. Both have ulterior motives for being there. Hux's involves a rendezvous with Ben Solo in a posh hotel during the planet's observance of Life Day celebrations. Space pears become involved and the situation intensifies.





	

Hux has no love for Hosnian Prime or any of the other so-called jewels of New Republic civilization, but he can’t deny the appeal of the capital city’s sleek environs and constant activity, at least in small doses. There’s also something amusing about venturing here alongside Maratelle, who secretly plans to bring it all down: all the arrogant, soaring architecture, every echo of the sappy pleasantries that she endures while entertained as Arkanis’ elegant ambassador, and even the fey cuisine that she takes tiny nips from before passing her portions onto Hux’s plate, reminding him that his father still longs for him to fatten up. 

As with any criticism of Brendol that passes between them, there is a smile in her eyes with every such remark, and while Hux still only trusts his stepmother so far as he can afford to, they’ve come a long way since his childhood attempts to engineer household accidents that may have killed her. As an adult and a commissioned officer of the First Order, he's come to appreciate Maratelle’s machinations, and more so he appreciates how they might serve his own interests. 

In a similar sense he can appreciate the buzzing reliability with which business functions on Hosnian Prime: their shuttle lands precisely on schedule and the transport that picks them up is spotless, a new model that glides smoothly toward their destination, transferring periodically between teeming towers of civilian traffic that wind through the capital’s skyscrapers from street to sky level. Though a few things about the way this society’s machine functions make sense to him, he resents the luxuries that seem indulgent to him, like individually controllable seat warmers (he keeps his powered off; it isn’t _that_ cold) and the countless, massive holo ads that glare down onto the vehicle’s viewports as they made their way into the bustling heart of the city. Many of these adverts blast sentiments related to Life Day, an idiotic wookiee thing that everyone in the New Republic seems to have embraced with the same doe-eyed, soft-brained glee that they swallow everything frivolous they’re fed. 

“Are you seething already, Armie?” Maratelle asks when she glances over and notices his expression. 

“No.” He’s asked her not to call him that, but with Maratelle he’s learned that it’s wise to pick one’s battles. “Nearly blinded by sales holos, though. How can they stand to be wallpapered in these whorish appeals for their attention all the time?”

“I doubt they pay them much notice, ubiquitous as they are.” Maratelle sighs and digs her comm from her designer bag. “Your father has messaged me,” she says, quietly, though their transport is piloted by an earless droid and they’re both wearing bug-detecting sensors on their belts. 

“What does Brendol want?” Hux asks. He can’t help preening a bit at the thought that he’s here in the lap of the enemy’s luxury while his father is toiling in the backwater where Hux studied at his rebuilt Academy for four miserably austere years of his life. 

“Nothing in particular,” Maratelle says, dragging her finger along the screen of her comm as she reads Brendol’s encoded missive. “I ought to make a pass by there before I go back to Arkanis, but it’s such a chore to do it with the proper discretion, and that dry air does terrible things to my skin.”

Brendol is still technically in exile, though it’s likely the New Republic would discount him as a real threat to their way of life these days. Arrogance is the New Republic’s greatest weakness, and it's what’s brought Maratelle and Hux here to Hosnian Prime, as their hosts assume that the well-mannered ambassador from Arkanis, a planet that was attacked and ‘reeducated’ by the Republic when Hux was still a boy, cannot do them harm by merely observing the often shaky alliances of the politicians who will gather at the gala events Maratelle has been invited to over the next three days. 

Hux feels his face heating when he checks his comm and sees messages from his own irritating but undeniably useful admirer on the screen. 

BENSOLO: Are you on Hos Prime??  
BENSOLO: I’m here for Life Day. Suddenly I sense that you’re near?  
BENSOLO: Hope they haven’t arrested you?  
BENSOLO: Otherwise let me know where you’re staying and I’ll come see you  
BENSOLO: ?? Okay?

Hux has learned many things about New Republic culture since Ben Solo began stalking and blackmailing him at age fifteen, but this overuse of question marks in comm messages is new to him. He rolls his eyes at the screen and deletes all the messages before Maratelle can crane her long neck to try to see them. He’s sure that she has allies he doesn’t know about, and so far as he can tell she has no idea that an enterprising and still-undercover traitor to the Jedi he’s supposed to be studying with numbers among Hux’s secret associates. 

“Sorry I couldn’t get you an invitation for the welcome reception,” Maratelle says. “But I’m sure you’ll find some way to entertain yourself tonight.” 

“Yes,” Hux says, aware of her scrutiny. He doesn’t mind it; he’s come to respect that not much gets past her. “I have my own sort of networking to do.” 

“Good, that’s why I brought you. The hope of the next generation. You need to learn how to move in these circles.” 

Hux resists the urge to roll his eyes again and remind her that he’s been practicing just that, according to the opportunities her position provides, since he was nineteen years old. He supposes he shouldn’t feel too smug about what he’s learned of the New Republic’s inner workings and social customs, since Ben Solo is the only significant fish he’s netted in four years of these off-duty trips alongside Maratelle. But what a fish Ben is, considering his mother, his powers, and his plans to throw off the chains both have placed upon him when the time is right.  

Or so he says. Hux trusts Ben about as much as he trusts Maratelle, maybe even less. Ben’s attentions are selfishly driven, lustful, and his feelings for Hux could evaporate at any time. Hux has only ever allowed Ben to suck worshipfully at two of his fingers during their past meetings, but they’re older now and Hux has considered that he probably needs to throw Ben some more substantial sign of his favor at last, to keep him on the hook. 

He supposes it’s dangerously arrogant to imagine that he hooked Ben Solo so much as was caught by him, though by unfair circumstance, as Ben can read minds. He pinned Hux to a wall almost instantly upon meeting him four years ago, and whispered all sorts of things he shouldn’t have known in Hux’s ear. _You’re out of uniform, lieutenant_ , from the lips of a weird-looking, gangly fifteen-year-old padawan, had turned Hux’s blood cold. Then Ben made his clumsy attempts at seduction, didn’t kill Hux with the Force for laughing at him, and somehow their affiliation has continued without complete disaster so far.

Hux remains overheated for the rest of their trip to the grand hotel where a two-bedroom suite has been arranged. While the heavy, itchy First Order uniform that he typically wears is like a second skin to him, he’s uncomfortable in the fine wool tunic and pants Maratelle gave him as a present at the start of this trip. They’re tailored to his exact measurements but they still feel alien, like everything about his present surroundings. 

The hotel lobby is garishly decorated for the holiday. There are garlands and twinkling lights everywhere, multicolored balls that seem to float over the reception desk and a band near the bar playing what Hux supposes are traditional Life Day songs. When he checks his comm again on the elevator ride up to their suite the entire screen is filled with new messages from Ben, who has never been subtle and has never seemed to possess any scrap of dignity. With Ben everything is brazen overconfidence, though the past two times they’ve met he at least seemed less like a spoiled teenager and more like a man who wields real power behind his many threats. This seeming change may only arise from the fact that Ben has gotten enormous in recent years, thick across the chest and just slightly taller than Hux. His arms and thighs are eye-catching even while he’s fully clothed, which is the only way Hux has ever seen him. 

BENSOLO: You are here  
BENSOLO: And not under arrest  
BENSOLO: Yet  
BENSOLO: You will have an audience with me  
BENSOLO: It’s up to you if you want to speak now or later  
BENSOLO: I sense you’re not alone  
BENSOLO: Your stepmom probably wouldn’t like me  
BENSOLO: So if you give me an idea of when you’ll be alone  
BENSOLO: It will go better for everyone  
BENSOLO: Also I have a present for you  
BENSOLO: (It’s traditional to exchange presents on Life Day)  
BENSOLO: (But you don’t have to get me anything)  
BENSOLO: Better get in touch soon unless you want me on your doorstep directly  
BENSOLO: Also tell me your exact location  
BENSOLO: I could determine it anyway but my doing so might give you a headache

ARMITAGEHUX: You are peerlessly obnoxious. Stop pestering me.

Brendol would say that it’s risky to play games with such a powerful man, especially if he’s also reckless, and all within the treacherous confines of Ben’s territory. But this has always been their pattern: empty threats from Ben, sneering dismissals from Hux, then somehow they come together and often end up in each other’s company for hours, playing the same sort of game in person. 

BENSOLO: Don’t you want to know what my present for you is  
BENSOLO: Aside from the gift of not handing you over to the authorities, of course

ARMITAGEHUX: Tattling on me to Mummy, you mean?

BENSOLO: Among others who’d be interested to hear about your official rank  
BENSOLO: Not to mention your ambitions 

ARMITAGEHUX: Neither of which you have any evidence of beyond your magical feelings.

BENSOLO: We both know evidence could be found  
BENSOLO: Come on Hux I’m bored to shit doing family stuff  
BENSOLO: Aren’t you bored yet?  
BENSOLO: Alone in your hotel room  
BENSOLO: On a strange planet  
BENSOLO: Wondering what sort of present a fearsome Force user like myself might have secured for you  
BENSOLO: ??

ARMITAGEHUX: I’m sure I’ll regret this as usual.  
ARMITAGEHUX: But she’ll be gone in two hours.  
ARMITAGEHUX: Knock before entering like a civilized person, please.

BENSOLO: Lessons in civility from an Outer Rim junta brat!

Hux bares his teeth at the screen. Sometimes Ben’s posturing cuts too deep. Hux has pressed a little too hard on some of Ben’s tenderest wounds in the past, too, and twice he’s been afraid that Ben might really do something in retaliation. That he hasn’t yet probably indicates that the fool is not merely infatuated but actually in love, and Hux knows he should count himself very lucky for having secured this oddball’s seeming loyalty, but love is the sort of thing that can be turned around on one too quickly, morphing into jealous rage or worse over nothing more than the wrong words spoken at the wrong time. 

BENSOLO: I’ll be there in two hours.  
BENSOLO: Gonna tell me the hotel name or would you prefer to feel me reaching into your head to get it?

Hux doesn’t believe Ben could really manage that from wherever he is, but he did accurately sense that Hux was on the planet, and withholding information that he wants to give anyway is not worth the risk of getting his brains scrambled from afar. He sends the address of the hotel and the suite number. 

Like the lobby, their suite has been decorated here and there with Life Day-inspired touches. These are more tasteful than what they saw downstairs, but still annoying. Maratelle breezes into the master bedroom to set her things down while Hux pokes at a bowl of fruit on the side table in the main sitting room. There are star-shaped ornaments pressed into the fruit skins. 

“Are these even edible?” he asks with disdain, plucking one of the star-shapes from the skin of a pear. It would be just like the New Republic to spoil perfectly good food for the purpose of appearances. He licks the star-shaped thing and wrinkles his nose. It’s sweet, also spicy. 

“Armie,” Maratelle says, appearing in the master bedroom’s doorway. “Don’t put that in your mouth. What are you doing?”

“It’s candy or something,” Hux says, flushing and battering down the urge to tell her she’s not his mother and he’s not a child. There’s no sense in starting a petty argument when she’s essentially treating him to this weekend of scheming and feather beds. “I doubt they’d stick it in the welcome fruit if it were poisonous,” he says, attempting to at least sound condescending. 

“You never know with these ridiculous people. Order room service if you’re hungry. They’re paying for everything so you’re welcome to go all out.” 

Hux resents the idea of going ‘all out’ even on the New Republic’s dime. It’s against his naturally efficient, restrained temperament. As Maratelle changes into her evening gown and prepares to leave for the reception, Hux calls up the front desk and orders a pair of bantha filets, several sides of scalloped vegetables, garden salad and the only bottle of wine with a name he recognizes. It’s the most modestly priced one on the menu. 

“You must be hungry,” Maratelle says when a droid pushes the cart of food into the suite just as she’s leaving.

“Perhaps I’m not dining alone,” Hux says. She’s surely guessed as much anyway by now. 

“Good for you.” Maratelle blows him a kiss, affecting the kind of stupid gesture she’ll have to give and receive all night long among the drunken clowns who’ll host her in the ballroom downstairs. Hux smiles, glad to be in on the joke, though also glad to see the back of her when she leaves. 

He checks the time and sees that Ben is already late. Typical. Leaving the food under its pretentious silver-domed covers, he investigates the suite’s lavish master washroom and decides to take a shower with real water. There’s a tub for bathing, too, but for Hux that is a bridge too far, and he doesn’t want to be caught naked and soaking in scented oils when Ben deigns to show up. 

Ben enters the suite without knocking when Hux is still wearing only a towel, and he calls Hux’s name with a kingly air that Hux grudgingly finds attractive. Regardless, he does not respond to this entitled summons. He remains in his towel, standing in front of the washroom’s enormous mirror and dragging some complimentary product through his hair, enjoying its airy texture even as he resents it for the knowledge of how much it probably costs. He pretends to be completely unaffected when Ben looms into the washroom doorway and stares at him, his expression similarly stoic. 

“Smells pretty good in here,” Ben says. He flushes at the sound of his own voice, which is almost enough to make Hux smirk triumphantly. 

“Are you referring to the food or the bath products?”

“I don’t know, both.” 

Hux meets Ben’s eyes in the mirror, then allows himself to survey Ben properly. It’s been nearly half a year since they last saw each other in person. Ben is even bigger now, thicker, though there is something attractively streamlined about him at the same time. It makes Hux wonder what Ben looks like without the tattered brown Jedi robe he wears over everything. Ben smirks at Hux as if he’s snooped in his thoughts and picked up on this curiosity, because of course he has. 

“Nice nipples,” Ben says. 

“Thank you,” Hux says, hoping to fluster him further by remaining calm. It seems to work: Ben’s cheeks burn from pink to red. “Give me a moment to dress, will you? You’re welcome to some of that food if you’re hungry.” 

“Oh, I’m hungry.” 

Hux ignores the innuendo and goes to the doorway, placing one hand on Ben’s broad chest and pushing him gently backward before pressing the panel that closes the washroom door, which comes just a breath away from crashing into the tip of Ben’s long nose. Hux takes his time with the remainder of his preparations, anointing himself with various tinctures from the selection that the hotel provides before putting his tunic and pants back on. As he’s lacing up his boots he begins to appreciate the fine fabrics that Maratelle chose for this ensemble: they look good on him, at least. He takes a moment to admire himself in the mirror before leaving the washroom, feeling stupid but also excited, the usual combination when an evening with Ben awaits.

In the suite’s main room Ben has dragged an ottoman over to the table with the food and is sitting upon it, already digging into one platter of scalloped vegetables. He hasn’t touched the wine or arranged a seat for Hux.

“You can fit here with me,” Ben says, patting the ottoman. 

“You’re going to eat with that thing on?” Hux asks, raising his lip as he watches the long sleeve of Ben’s robe nearly graze the food. 

“I can undress if you prefer.” Ben’s face is no longer red, but there’s something uncertain in his eyes that Hux enjoys. He gets the impression that Ben puts most people off, but that most people won’t tell him so to his face. A futile kindness, considering that Ben can read their minds either way. Hux stands watching as Ben shrugs off the robe and throws it onto the floor like it’s garbage. The sand-colored tunic and pants underneath are similarly ragged, and there’s a lightsaber on his belt. Hux has seen it before and has wondered about the weight of the hilt, what it would feel like in his hand. He’s never seen Ben ignite it. “Stop ogling my rod and get over here,” Ben says, patting the ottoman again. “I’ll let you hold it later, if you’re good.” 

“What would being good even constitute in the eyes of a traitor to his own kind?” Hux asks, probably pressing too hard on Ben’s tender places with this remark but unable to care much. “Stop reading my mind,” he says, and he takes a seat beside Ben on the ottoman. It’s small enough that their thighs almost press together, and Hux can feel the heat of Ben’s body and the heat of the rage that has pooled into his eyes. Ben doesn’t like being reminded that he’s a traitor, even as he claims to relish the idea of revealing his true intentions someday. 

“Here,” Ben says, brutally forking one of the bantha steaks and slapping it onto Hux’s plate. “You look like you could use some iron.” 

“Where is this alleged present you’ve brought for me?” Hux asks, ignoring the comment about his pallor. He knows he looks rather nice tonight in fact, after the long shower. 

“I’ll give you your gift later,” Ben says. He’s knifing into his own steak, bumping Hux with his elbow as he cuts it. “Tell me how you’ve been.” 

“Busy.” Hux reaches for the wine, which was opened by the service droid before it left. Two glasses have been placed beside the bottle. “Are you old enough to drink this?” he asks Ben, pretending it’s a serious question. 

“You know how old I am,” Ben says. 

“Yes, but are nineteen-year-olds allowed to drink in the New Republic? Or should I be asking about the rules for Jedi trainees?” 

“Fuck the Jedi,” Ben says. His face flushes again, and he stares at his plate. “And fuck the New Republic, for that matter. You know I do whatever I want. Pour me some.” 

“And how have you been?” Hux fills his own glass first, then Ben’s. “Surrounded by odious Life Day observances at the homestead, no doubt?”

“Life Day’s not so bad,” Ben says. “But my family-- Yes. They’re all there. It’s grim as shit.” 

“Grim, really?” 

Ben cuts his eyes to Hux, then back to his steak. “Yeah,” he mutters. “It’s a long story.” 

Hux portions vegetables and salad onto his plate, waiting for Ben to burst forth with whatever long story he’s referring to, but Ben gulps wine and otherwise remains silent. He shifts after he’s finished half his glass, edging his thigh against Hux’s.

“Been on any interesting missions?” Ben asks. “With your secret Order?”

“That’s classified,” Hux says. “You might read my mind to learn more, but I expect you’d be bored by what you find. We’re laying groundwork, et cetera. But I’m a captain now,” he adds, trying to stamp down his pride about this so that Ben won’t sense it and tease him. 

“I’m teaching combat strategy to some of the padawans,” Ben says, as if to answer this, competitive. 

“How are they as students?” 

“Most of them suck, a few are good. The most talented padawan we ever had was my cousin, but. She disappeared.” 

“Really?” Hux glances at Ben. “Is that a coded way to say that you killed off the competition?”  

“No. She wasn’t-- Her powers weren’t comparable to mine.” Ben scoffs as if this suggestion is more ridiculous than the idea that he might have murdered a rival, blood relation or not. “She was just a kid, but. Anyway, like I said, long story.” 

“When did she disappear? Recently?”

“No. It was around the time I met you.” 

“Hmm. So that makes for a less than festive family gathering at this time of year, I take it?”

Ben grunts and turns back to his plate. He uses the Force to grab the wine bottle and pour more for Hux, then for himself. It’s a clumsy maneuver, but none spills. 

“Do you do that on all your dates?” Hux asks after he’s sipped some. “Or are you only allowed to date your fellow mystics, who wouldn’t be impressed?” 

Something about this inquiry seems to make Ben gloomy, as Hux should have perhaps expected. Hux is fairly sure that he’s the closest thing to a romantic interest that Ben has ever had. He’s read a bit about the Jedi. There was something about them not being allowed to marry. 

“About that,” Ben says, as if they’re conversing aloud, “Can we order some fresh fruit?” 

“I don’t follow,” Hux says, and he drinks more wine. “But there’s fruit over there.” He points to the bowl of fruit with star-shaped candies pushed into them. 

“Supposedly it makes your come taste better,” Ben says, and then the fruit is levitating toward them: not the whole bowl but once piece at a time in a disorderly line, sort of dancing through the air and then floating overhead like TIE fighters preparing to fire on an enemy moon. 

“Ah,” Hux says, eying the floating fruit warily. “What’s come flavor got to do with-- Wait, what are we even talking about?” 

“About breaking my vows,” Ben says. One by one, the pieces of fruit settle onto the table. A pear rolls toward Hux and bumps his plate. “I want to give you my body,” Ben says, grabbing Hux’s thigh and turning to stare at him very seriously. “I want you to take me, to make me impure. It’s my Life Day gift to you, if you’ll have it.” 

Hux looks away and forks a roasted venta sprout as calmly as he can, bringing it to his lips. Ben’s hand is very large and warm on his leg. 

“I’ve waited so long to live as my true self,” Ben says, squeezing Hux’s thigh. His breath smells like bantha steak and garlic potatoes, but the low, ragged tone of his voice is doing something to Hux all the same. “And my true master tells me I must wait, wait, I’m always waiting. But this is something I can do to defy the Jedi now, a real thing I can have for myself, and even if my uncle senses it he won’t forsake me, because Vader’s masters never should have--”

“I need you to stop talking and remove your hand from my person,” Hux says, setting his silverware down. 

He doesn’t actually mind the feverish touch or the rambling invitation to go to bed with Ben, but he wants to make sure this is the kind of command he can issue, and apparently it is: Ben pulls his hand away and goes silent, his shoulders slumping. 

“I know you want me,” Ben mutters. “I feel it.” 

“That’s a rather loaded sentiment, isn’t it? Even coming from you. Chin up, don’t pout. I didn’t say no to your gift.” 

Ben is too relieved to pretend to be stoic now: he whirls on Hux, shoulders going back and breath coming harder, not far from Hux’s face. 

“Eat up,” Hux says, grabbing the pear and offering it to Ben. “Though I doubt it will make much of a difference, if we’re going to do this tonight. Maratelle is just downstairs. She’ll be back around midnight, but I do have my own bedroom.” 

“You-- You really--” Ben gnaws his bottom lip and stares at the pear for a moment before grabbing it. He takes a huge bite from it as his cheeks go pink, then red. The star candies crunch between his teeth like bones. Hux flushes with a combination of arousal and nerves; his thigh still feels warm where Ben touched him. He drinks more wine. 

“Here’s the thing, though,” Hux says. “I know you’re of age, but you’re still-- Underdeveloped, in my view.” 

“I weigh like a hundred pounds more than you!” Ben hits the table with his fist as if to emphasize this. “And just wait till you see my balls, they’re huge. I’m not fucking underdeveloped, you are!” 

“I don’t mean physically, for fuck’s sake. You’re obviously a man now, and congratulations on your huge balls. But you come from this culture where everybody is coddled to the point of needing their asses warmed in their transports, and you’re so-- I’d feel strange about spearing your heart on my dick.” 

“What does that even mean?” Ben asks, his eyes narrowing, face flaming. “I didn’t offer you my heart.” 

“Mhm.” Debating that point would not be productive. “All I’m saying is that I’d rather you did the penetrating. Think of me as practice. Surely you’ll be fucking your way through the galaxy once you’ve claimed your dark throne, or whatever your anti-Jedi ambition is.” 

Ben considers this while taking more large bites from the pear. The bob of his throat when he swallows draws Hux’s gaze. 

“Okay,” Ben says. “That works, too. It doesn’t really matter who’s, uh. On top.” 

“I couldn’t agree more.” 

“How many times have you done this?” Ben asks. He uses the flat of his palm to wipe pear juice from his lips. There’s an untouched cloth napkin beside his plate. 

“Plenty,” Hux says, and then, because Ben will probably sneak a peek at the accuracy of this statement, “Three times.” 

“That’s not plenty! I want to fuck every day, I dream about it-- Ever since the first time I saw you I’ve thought about kneeling between your legs at least once a day.” 

“You’re getting all worked up,” Hux says, glancing at the wine. “Have another pear. I’m going to get myself ready. Would you like to watch, or shall I do it in the washroom to preserve my air of mystery?”

Ben’s eyes are huge. Hux barely catches the laugh that tries to climb up from his gut. 

“Watch-- Watch, I’ll--” Ben swallows, nods. He’s transfixed. Hux has never been anyone’s first time before. “Yeah, I’ll watch.” 

“I heard you the first two times.” 

Hux wipes his mouth with his napkin and stands. He pours himself a bit more wine and carries the glass into his bedroom, expecting Ben to follow. There’s a crashing clatter of silverware and plates when Ben gets up too fast, disturbing the table, and a dull _thunk_ that might be a piece of fruit hitting the plush carpet.

“Shut the door,” Hux says when he’s facing the bed in his room, unfastening his belt. He’ll keep it close at hand, for the purposes of staying near to the bug-sensor, though if Ben should ever betray him it won’t be so pedestrian as that. He places the belt on the bedside table anyway and turns to face Ben as he lifts his shirt. Ben is near the door, his hands flexing as he watches Hux reach for the hem of his tunic. “Well, this is nothing too exciting,” Hux says, tugging it off. “You’ve seen my nipples.” And you like them, he almost says, enjoying the way Ben’s stare sharpens once he’s shirtless. “You can undress, too,” Hux says. “If you like.” 

Ben unfastens his belt and sets it on the floor with the lightsaber still attached, then pulls off his tunic. Now Hux is the one staring dumbly as arousal overtakes his brain: he knew that Ben would be muscular, based on his build, but he somehow didn’t expect this level of sculpted perfection. 

“Come here,” Hux says, tearing his gaze away when he looks up and sees Ben smirking at his obvious admiration. “Help me with my boots.” 

Hux sits on the bed and braces his hands against the mattress when Ben practically runs across the room to kneel for him. It’s thrilling to have this sort of person in his thrall, and Hux has to remind himself not to overplay his hand here or to let himself get fully tangled up in how much he suddenly wants Ben, too. 

Though perhaps it’s not really so sudden. He strokes Ben’s hair and watches his clumsy fingers working on the delicate laces of the boots Maratelle got for him. They’re designer something or other. Ben’s hair is as silky as it looks, if not silkier. It occurs to Hux with only mild concern that he might be a little drunk. He’s no lightweight, but he doesn’t get many opportunities to imbibe during the course of his normal routine. 

Ben slides the first boot off carefully, sets it aside and leans in to kiss Hux’s knee before moving to the other boot. Hux rewards him with more hair-stroking. 

“Even your socks,” Ben says, his voice hushed with wonder. He’s certainly a little drunk, too. 

“My socks?” Hux says. 

“That I can see them, like, there they are.”

Ben doesn’t go so far as kissing Hux’s socked feet, but he does rub Hux’s leg with both hands once the second boot has been removed, and his breath catches when Hux rests his right foot against his chest like a gentle warning. 

“Fetch me something for lubricant,” Hux says, nodding to the small attached washroom.

Ben springs up to do so, and Hux allows himself to imagine having this kind of service always at hand: his own massive, lovesick Force user, ready and willing to jump at Hux’s every command. A man could find himself in very high ranking shoes with an ally like that at his beck and call. 

Hux stands to remove the rest of his clothes and cautions himself against getting too comfortable with the idea. Love is fickle, Ben is unpredictable, and the mysterious ‘true master’ whom Ben answers to would likely step in and put a stop to all of this if he ever judged Hux to be a real threat to his own hold over Ben and his powers. 

When Ben returns to the room with a bottle in his hand he’s already tenting his pants, and he stops to stare, open-mouthed, when he sees Hux reclining naked on the bed. Hux can’t help the flush that spreads down from his neck, but perhaps Ben won’t notice it. The lights are adjusted to a softly glowing thirty-five percent, and beyond that there’s only the illumination that the city provides through the privacy-screened but still transparent windows. They’re on the eighty-second floor of this massive building, and many of the others that surround it tower far higher.

“What did you find?” Hux asks. He’s leaning back against the bed’s excessive pillows, knees bent and legs spread. No sense in being subtle now. 

“Find-- What?” 

“What’s that in your hand, Ben, for lube.” 

“Oh, this-- Uh.” Ben looks down at it as if he’s forgotten. “It’s lube. Real lube, for sex.” 

“As opposed to hyperdrive repair?”

“Well, I mean. It was in there, you know, with the little soaps and everything. I guess a lot of people have sex in hotel rooms.”

“I imagine they do. Toss it to me. You can sit in that chair.” Hux gestures to a plush armchair in the corner of the room, near the washroom door. “And take your pants off if you want to,” Hux says when Ben gapes at the chair, then at him again. “If you want to touch yourself, while I-- That’s fine.” 

Hux is accustomed to putting on a show like this at the start of sex; he’s only ever been had by older men who wanted to watch him before taking him. It’s different with Ben: he’s openly amazed, moving toward the chair without taking his eyes off of Hux. He slides his pants down to reveal the kind of cock Hux has only ever seen in holoporn, long and thick and a bit intimidating, though Hux doesn’t allow himself to show any outward indication of such. Ben floats the lube into Hux’s outstretched hand with the Force rather than tossing it, then drops to a seat in the chair, still scrabbling at his pants and tugging his boots off along with them. 

“Can I turn the lights up?” Ben asks when Hux uncaps the lube.

“I’m surprised at you,” Hux says. The lube is, of course, a high quality brand that glides luxuriantly between his fingers. “I took you for a romantic.” 

“But I want to see you.” 

“You’ll be close enough to get a good look at everything before too long. Allow me to build a little anticipation, yeah?”

Ben scoffs, his knees twitching together before spreading apart again. His cock is very hard and red, standing up against his stomach. That he hasn’t dared to touch it yet probably indicates that he’s afraid he’ll go off too quickly. 

“I’ve got plenty of anticipation,” Ben says. “Four years worth.” 

“Yes, I remember your appeals to me when I was your age. Did you really think I was going to so much as kiss you, with that fucking braid on your shoulder and your voice still cracking?”

“It was not!”

“Mhm, well, here are are now anyway. Were you even remotely confident back then that you might have ensnared me for this long?”

“I haven’t-- Hux--” Ben’s face falls in a way that’s positively comical with him sitting there naked, legs spread, cock enormously erect. “You know I won’t really-- I wouldn’t--” 

“I’m only teasing. Give me a little credit. I’ve never slept with anyone solely for what they can do for me.” Though his attraction to his past partners always went hand in hand with their power and their usefulness, and he supposes that’s true of Ben, too. Perhaps differently, though. “You should come,” Hux says as he reaches down between his legs with his slicked fingers. “Before, you know. So you can last when you’re inside me.”  

Ben moans at the very suggestion that he’s going to be inside Hux. He opens his mouth, maybe to claim that he has some sort of Force-given ability to last a long time either way, but then Hux’s fingertips tease against his hole and whatever Ben was going to say fizzles. He grabs both arms of the chair and sits forward, watching with unblinking wonder as Hux spreads lubricant on himself, his breath speeding up and his cock stiffening. 

“Touch yourself,” Hux says, more huskily than he intended to. “If I’m, ah. Giving a show, you ought to be, too.” 

“Hux,” Ben says, hushed with awe. He grabs his cock and sits back, pressing his mouth shut and exhaling sharply through his nose as he begins to stroke himself slowly, watching as Hux dips just a fingertip into his hole, already arching into the feeling. “Do you do that to yourself?” Ben asks. “When you’re alone?”

“Of course,” Hux says, eyes flashing as he sinks his finger in deeper. “I love it.” 

“Nnh, you look. So good, Hux-- I’ve thought of you so many ways. Doing so many fucked up things to me and to yourself, but never this.” 

“Really!” Hux smirks and begins to fuck himself slowly, inching his feet apart on the bedspread. “Your lack of creativity surprises me, Solo.” 

“Don’t call me Solo.” Ben wrinkles his nose, his hand going still on his dick. “Not during sex, please. Not ever.” 

“Oh, _sorry_.” Hux weighs the risk versus reward of making a smart ass remark about Ben’s deadbeat father at this juncture. He decides to forgo it. “Shall I call you something sweeter? Darling or baby or whatever people here say to each other when they’re looking deeply into each other’s eyes as they fuck?”

“Ben’s fine.” He pumps his cock again, expression darkening. “Put another in,” he says. “You’re gonna need to stretch out good to get this in you.” 

Hux snorts, pretending that he’s not suffering a full-body flush of insane arousal in the wake of hearing that. Pre-come beads and leaks from the tip of his cock as he rubs a second finger around his rim, still fucking himself with the first. 

“Are you going to make me feel it?” Hux asks, trying to keep his breathing steady. “You’ve never used that thing on anybody before, will you even know how?”

“We’ll see.” Ben’s hand moves faster on his dick. “Push that second one in, Captain Hux. I know you want to.” 

Hux didn’t intend to obey any commands given by Ben during this rendezvous, but he’s so ready to do what Ben asked that he has to bite down on a whimper as he breaches himself with a second finger, feeling the first real burn of the stretch as it slides inside. Ben moans low in his chest, approving and maybe even praising him for this. Hux lets his head tip back as he begins to fuck himself with both fingers, still slowly. When he looks at Ben again he’s alarmed for a moment to see an object floating through the air, but it’s just the lube. Ben snatches it and dumps some onto his palm, jerking his cock more vigorously once he’s slicked up. 

“Better put a third one in,” Ben says. His voice is choppy as he leans back in the chair, spreading his thighs apart and giving Hux a proper show now. “Bet you’ve never taken anyone as big as me before.” 

“How would you know.” Hux pokes at himself with a third finger, feeling greedy and increasingly unconcerned about letting himself have all of this, not just a carefully calculated portion of it. His nipples are peaked, achingly tight, and he’s thinking about what Ben’s mouth would feel like there, graceless drags of teeth and tongue and heat. 

“I know you’ve never had anyone this big,” Ben says, smirking and stroking himself faster. “Because your eyes got all huge when you saw my cock. Like you’d never seen anything so majestic before. Let alone-- ah. Taken one as deep as you’re gonna take mine.” 

Hux moans and pinches his eyes shut as he pushes a third finger in too fast. He hisses and leaves it halfway in for a moment before slowly inserting the rest alongside the first two. When he opens his eyes he’s panting. Ben is, too, his hand flying on his dick now. 

“Yeah, you want it,” Ben says, his voice rough. “Gonna give it to you, Hux, finally. You’re gonna let me come inside you, too, aren’t you? Gonna get that slutty ass so dirty and wet.” 

“Fuck,” Hux moans, fingers moving faster. The stretch against his rim feels good, and the hot friction as he presses in and out, but he wants something-- _Ben_ \--much deeper than his fingers will go. “Come,” Hux demands, holding Ben’s gaze as his eyes nearly blur over with pleasure, his knuckles just grazing his prostate. “I want to see, want to see you come all over yourself while you watch me.” 

“Gonna fuck you so hard,” Ben grinds out, but it sounds like a plea and his voice breaks around something wordless when his climax hits, his cock jerking visibly as he spills all over himself in thick ropes. 

There’s so much, Hux thinks, almost says. It’s true that he wants it inside him-- not just that glorious dick that will leave him sore for days but Ben’s filthy seed. Hux wants to feel it sliming down over his thighs while Ben sits back and takes a long look at the mess he’s made of him. And that’s never been true before: with the others Hux had been annoyed at their determination to mark him that way, and when it was done he was unwilling to let them linger for so much as a kiss in the aftermath, no matter how impressive their rank.

“Clean yourself up,” Hux says, slowly withdrawing his fingers. If he touched his cock at all he might push himself over the edge, but he prefers to wait, to let Ben feel his climax while they’re locked together. Another thing he’s never cared enough to want from a previous partner. “And get over here.” 

Ben is easily wrecked, as Hux expected: brainless and panting with his head lolling against the back of the chair. And Hux has barely even touched him yet. On those occasions when Hux let Ben suck on his fingers they had both gotten hard, but Hux had sensed that the real payoff was further down the line. So this is it, hardly as meticulously engineered as Hux had planned. If Maratelle were to come back early Hux would simply lock the door and do his moderate best to muffle his moans while Ben fucked him all night long, or for as long as he’s willing to stay. Nothing about this is on a set course, and Hux has never cared less about not knowing exactly what’s coming next. 

After toweling the come from his chest, Ben approaches the bed, lube in hand. He kneels onto the mattress and spills himself over Hux, swooping in for a messy kiss that Hux should have anticipated. Because it took him off guard his efforts to kiss back are messy, too, and he shivers when Ben sucks on his bottom lip. When Ben pulls back it’s like their minds are linked, briefly: Hux thinks, _nipples, please_ and Ben gets to work, licking and sucking at Hux’s nonexistent tits until he’s raw. 

“I’m gonna make you come,” Ben says when he surges back up to tease his fattened lips against Hux’s mouth. “Gonna swallow it up, even though you didn’t eat any fruit.” 

“You’re absurd,” Hux says, bucking up against him and abandoning his plan to wait until Ben is inside him to finish. It’s too good to let Ben kiss down over his chest and belly as if he’s barely restraining himself from taking big bites of Hux’s skin the way he did that pear, and much too good to object to the feeling of Ben’s hot mouth closing around his cock, which by now is aching with what feels like weeks of unspent pressure. “ _Yesss_ ,” Hux says, without meaning to, as Ben uses his big fucking mouth to take Hux in fully. “Ah, fuck, you-- You were thinking of this, hah, weren’t you? When you sucked-- Sucked my fingers--”

Ben pulls off to give Hux a dry stare. “Wow,” he says. “It’s like you’re a mind reader.” 

Hux laughs harder than he would have allowed himself to if he hadn’t had wine and if he wasn’t in the middle of getting his dick sucked. Ben smiles and flushes with pleasure. Hux decides he doesn’t mind, especially when Ben promptly takes him into his mouth again. He’s close already and a bit embarrassed both by the quickness and ferocity with which he comes down Ben’s throat, letting a very undignified sound pour and pour from his lips until it’s trickled to a weak thing not unlike the last dribbles of come that Ben is lapping from the tip of his now overstimulated cock.

“Please,” Hux says, maybe to himself. Please be careful, please turn off some of the switches that are flipping toward a thing you can’t take back. Then Ben kisses him on the mouth, tasting of Hux’s come and expensive pears, those spicy star-shaped candies, also wine. Hux wraps not just his arms but his legs around Ben, and he lets the kiss go on and on until he realizes he’s the one chasing it. “Not like that,” he says, laughing against Ben’s lips when he feels Ben’s cockhead bumping hopefully against his loosened rim. He’s not loosened enough, and this is going to be a trial even on his hands and knees, but Hux feels it will be worth it, especially when Ben gives him a sheepish, pleading stare and waits to be told just how Hux wants him.

How Hux wants it: on all fours, Ben behind him, Hux arching and arching into the feeling of trying to make room inside himself for all of Ben as he inches in a little at a time. If Hux had made predictions about this moment, and perhaps he did, he would not have imagined doing anything but demanding Ben to give it to him hard right away, to prove that he could take it. Though he suspects he could, he whimpers into the pillow where he’s buried his face and lets Ben handle him with care, his mouth pressed to Hux’s ear and his hands gentle across Hux’s chest and shoulders. 

“You okay?” Ben asks, muttering this against Hux’s cheek when he’s all in. One of them is trembling; Hux drools onto the pillow and pretends that it must be Ben.

“I’m not the one who’s never done this,” Hux says. His voice is so strained that this posturing is ridiculous. 

“I could take it out,” Ben says. “You could do me, like I said--” 

“No, I-- Yes, I’ll do you, if you stay. But for now let’s, ah. Continue.” 

“Fuck, well-- _Hux_. You feel so good.” Ben says this as if it will console Hux in his time of struggle. And it does: Hux feels himself relaxing a bit, and he turns his cheek into the slobbering kisses Ben presses there. “I’m glad you told me to come,” Ben says, whispering now. “Want to stay in you, I’d stay in you all night if I could. You’re so smart. I feel like, ah, fuck, Hux-- You must always know what to do. Wish I could steal that from you.” 

“Stop babbling,” Hux says, though he doesn’t really mind it. The flattery has allowed him to relax further. “You can move now-- A bit. Slowly, please.” 

This is the last verbal directive that Hux needs to give: Ben is so switched onto him that Hux need only call up a vague mental image of a nipple to get Ben’s fingers twisting on him there, and he sets the pace with which Ben plunges into him in a similar way, though it’s possible Ben is just reading Hux’s needs from his noises. Strangely enough, when they’re moving against each other with wanton ease, Hux finds he longs to hear Ben’s nonsensical babbling again. 

“Hux,” Ben says, as if that’s all he can manage, and only then does Hux realize how close Ben must be, his thrusts coming shallow and fast, his chest stuck to Hux’s back with sweat. “I--” Ben says, whining, and Hux almost tells him it’s fine, don’t speak, then he’s too curious about hearing what might come next. “I-- Always, I thought, since we met-- that you were my, _unh_. My soul mate, but-- Now I know, now I’m sure, _fuck_!” 

“Because I can handle your massive cock?” Hux says, in disbelief, and then Ben comes inside him. Hux stifles a laugh into the pillow and files this away: being told that his dick is huge is enough to push Ben over the edge into climax, naturally.

They sag onto the mattress together, Ben breathing very hard. Hux has managed a partial erection, and he palms himself idly while letting Ben recover. When Ben starts sucking at Hux’s neck, probably in a way that will leave marks, Hux brings Ben’s hand to his dick. 

“Finish me off,” Hux instructs. Ben’s grip tightens instantly. 

“Ah, while I’m-- Do you want me to pull out?” 

“Did I ask you to?” Hux opens his legs for Ben’s touch and clenches around his dick. Ben whines, oversensitive, and does as he was told, stroking Hux until he’s wriggling in Ben’s grip, trying to fuck himself back onto Ben’s softening cock. 

“You look so good like this,” Ben says. 

“Like, ah, like what.” Hux probably shouldn’t ask. Like a shameless whore, like a fool for the taking, like an underdeveloped, wan refugee from another world who falls entirely open for the first tender touch from this one. 

“Like my dreams about this moment,” Ben says, very seriously. 

Hux comes then, laughing and spurting weakly over Ben’s fingers.

“Fuck,” Hux says, reaching back to punch Ben’s shoulder while his cock twitches out the last few drops. “You were, ah. Supposed to say something hot.”

“You don’t think it’s hot that I dream about having you like this?”

“No! I don’t know, maybe. Fuck, I’m roasting, you’re like a heated blanket on the surface of a sun. Let’s disconnect, please.”

Hux sort of crawls off of Ben’s cock, spilling himself face-first onto the rumpled luxury bedclothes. The coverlet is soft against his cheek, velvety, and his ass is a sticky, well-used, thoroughly satisfied mess that feels like it’s been worked on by a true artisan. He laughs at the thought while Ben goes to the washroom to get towels. 

Ben is quiet afterward, but attentive: he mops at Hux with a towel, and when the sweat has cooled on Hux’s skin he allows Hux to huddle against his side and lie there thrumming in his bones, delaying any sort of analysis of what just went on.

“So I did give you a present in return,” Hux says, mumbling. His face is pressed to Ben’s chest, just over the muscle-padded jut of his ribs. “Your-- What did you call it? Impurity?” 

“No,” Ben says. He puts his hand on Hux’s hip and nudges him closer. 

“No? I thought that was what you said, that I should make you impure.” 

“I did say that. But I misunderstood the act in my ignorance of it. That was pure. Not of the light nor the dark. A rare balance of both energies.”

“Mhm.” Hux is afraid to think he might know what Ben is talking about. “Want to go get the rest of that wine for me?”  

Hux is ultimately too lazy with pleasure to mount Ben, and some of his reluctance to do so at all returns when the heat of the previous moment has cooled. He does use his fingers, and Ben seems to find this more than enough: he comes a third time, still producing a copious amount, after only having his prostate teased with a few clever strokes and without needing to touch his cock. Hux is impressed, both with himself and by Ben, and when he returns to the room after washing up he expects to find Ben curled up asleep, as completely spent as Hux is beginning to feel, but he’s standing naked at the window and watching some commotion on a nearby rooftop. 

“Some sort of riot?” Hux asks when he stands at Ben’s side, his hand going too automatically to the small of Ben’s back. 

“It’s a Life Day countdown.” Ben looks mournful. Hux supposes he should kick Ben out before anything more uncomfortably emotional than what has already happened between them occurs, but he puts his chin on Ben’s shoulder and watches the rooftop celebration along with him. The crowd is counting down backward, and Hux spies a similar gathering on another rooftop that’s a bit farther away, colored lights flashing and people throwing their arms over their heads with glee when the countdown finishes, cheering. “That’s it,” Ben says. “It’s Life Day now.” 

“Great,” Hux says. “I think I’ll celebrate by going back to bed. Have you got some kind of party like that to be at?”

Ben turns his sorrowing look on Hux. “It’s a long story,” he says. “But you’re not wrong. What happened to my cousin was my fault. And I was envious of her.” 

Hux stares up at Ben, his shoulders lifting slightly as he waits to know what to do about receiving this information. He doesn’t really want to hear the long story, though Ben might not be entirely wrong about this thing between them being singular and rare. Soul mates aren’t real, but Hux is old enough to know that people don’t get many chances to find someone who even partially understands them and also never wants to leave their side. 

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Hux says. It’s a very New Republic-style sentiment, so perhaps Ben will appreciate it. “You could spend Life Day with me, if you want to avoid your family. Maratelle likes the idea that I’ve got a suitor. She won’t kick you out.” 

“A suitor.” Ben smiles a little and leans down. He stops short of kissing Hux, rubbing his face against Hux’s cheek instead. Perhaps it’s some sort of Life Day custom; it seems wookiee-like in origin. “Okay,” Ben says, very softly. “Yes.” 

The party goes on outside while Hux huddles beside Ben in the bed, talking of things to come: the Order, Ben’s master, how all of it might fit together in a way that will elevate both of them above their rivals. It’s unlikely to work out the way they want it to, but Hux allows himself to be pulled in by Ben’s strange optimism. It’s a laughable outlook, born of this place where asses are individually warmed on transport rides, but there is some charm in trying to believe that things will simply fall into place when the time comes, at least temporarily, while wrapped in fine bedsheets and in someone’s very strong arms. 

Ben has dozed off by the time Hux hears Maratelle come in. To stop her from dropping into his room to give a tipsy report on the party, Hux puts on one of the complimentary robes in the closet, checks his face in the washroom mirror for any stray come deposits, and slips out to wish her goodnight, closing his bedroom door behind him.

She’s in the master bedroom’s washroom, taking down her hair. The look on her face makes Hux regret approaching her: he can’t deal with another emotional confession tonight. A single further confidence will buckle his knees, surely.

“What’s wrong?” he asks anyway, because he must. She’s not quite crying but looks like she might have been fighting off tears in the elevator ride up. “Did some drunken buffoon offend you? We can have him killed, I know powerful people here--” 

“Stop.” Maratelle manages a real laugh and reaches over to touch Hux’s shoulder when he comes to stand beside her. “Stars, Armie, you looked debauched.” 

“I’m-- Not.” That didn’t sound remotely convincing. He meets her eyes in the mirror and shrugs. “Was the party that horrible? You look stricken.” 

“No, it was exactly the same as all of the parties these people give. Too much food, too much drinking, dancing that would embarrass a Hutt. I just miss Brendol. These events always make me miss him terribly.” 

“Oh.” Hux isn’t sure why he’s so surprised. He hasn’t seen them together very often since Brendol’s exile, but they tend to have a near-identical glint of scheming respect in their eyes when they look at each other, and perhaps that’s a comfort, looking at someone and seeing that sort of understanding reflected back. Certainly it is.

“I think I will stop by his Academy on the way back to Arkanis,” Maratelle says, nodding at her reflection. “You know our marriage was basically arranged? Not by others but by me and Brendol ourselves, to best take advantage of our respective positions. And for your sake,” she says, glancing at Hux. “He thought I would be a good influence on you.” 

“Ah, Brendol,” Hux says, shuffling uncomfortably. “Always thinking of the future.” 

“Indeed. But the point is that we ended up falling in some kind of actual love. Which was and is inconvenient.” 

“That sort of thing always is.” 

“Yes, but it can’t be helped. You can go back to your companion, I won’t disturb you. Unless you think he’d like to have breakfast with us?” 

“I don’t know if I’d want to subject you to that. His manners are lacking.” 

“I saw fruit all over the table out there and some on the floor, what’s that about?” 

“The lacking manners in question.”

Maratelle smiles. Less than twenty years ago Hux went to bed making nightly frothing vows to kill her. Four years ago he’d have laughed in disgust at the idea that he would ever let Ben Solo so much as suck on the tips of his fingers. And now, now: life has borne him along like some lawless river. He hates that he can’t see where it’s headed.

“Happy Life Day,” he says, mocking the sentiment, and he kisses Maratelle’s cheek. 

“Oh, indeed.” She snorts. “I’ve yet to hear a remotely rational explanation for what the bloody thing even is.” 

Hux returns to the bedroom again expecting to find Ben asleep. Ben is still slumped over onto his side under the blankets, but his eyes are open and glinting with bright intent as he watches Hux remove the robe and climb back into bed. 

“Will you marry me?” Ben asks just before Hux has settled back into his arms. 

“Are you talking in your sleep?” Hux asks, frozen in mid-swoon.

“No, I’m wide awake.”

“Have you lost your mind, then?”

Ben blinks and seems to consider this question more seriously. “No,” he says.

Hux moves gingerly back into place, resting his head on Ben’s bicep and drawing his knees up to press against the hard flat of Ben’s stomach, keeping him at a bit of a distance even as he allows Ben to arrange the blankets over his shoulder. 

“Well, if it’s a serious question,” Hux says, “My answer is, of course: never.” 

Ben grins as if that was the answer he wanted, the fool. 

“Here’s what I will do,” Hux says. When he brings his fingers to Ben’s bottom lip, Ben opens for him and takes them into his mouth with such readiness that Hux shivers; he wonders if this will always be the way between them. Probably not, but for now he’ll enjoy it. “I’ll let you stay here,” Hux says, pressing his fingers into Ben’s mouth and rubbing gently at his tongue before extracting them. “Until I leave in two days. We can have our own perverse anti-Life Day celebration, where we fuck and eat room service and remain anti-social.” 

“And holoporn,” Ben says, nodding. His eyes are glazed now, the restless lonely thing in him momentarily placated. 

“Holoporn?” 

“Yes. It’s traditional for those avoiding their families on Life Day to watch holoporn alone.”

“You’re bullshitting me, surely.” 

“I’m not! It’s a thing.”

Hux lies awake and attempts to wrap his mind around what else Ben tells him of Life Day. At some point he realizes this is therapeutic for Ben: the telling of it, and having Hux know some of his memories. Hux would normally shove away from this kind of realization, or at least demand that he needs sleep. He only plays with Ben’s hair and wrinkles his nose, makes merciless fun of everything Ben tells him about this, the stupidest of all holidays, but never asks him to stop talking about it, only somehow wants to hear more.

 

**


End file.
